Ana’s life had set into a
pattern in which on the whole she was still blissfully happy. As long
as she
could meet Binta every day how could her life be otherwise? She hardly
ever
spent the night in her own flat: she normally stayed behind at the
Brothel with
Binta and relished their hours together spent on her bed, trying never
to think
about all the men that had also been there during the day and had
forced
themselves onto her lover. She loved everything about Binta. Every
freckle,
every dimple, every blemish. She loved Binta’s body: so slim, so
elegant, so
perfect. She loved the sound of Binta’s voice and its assertive tone.
She loved
the feel of Binta’s long hair as it fell over her own naked buttocks,
the
warmth of her skin, the salty taste of her sweat, and the ivory
hardness of her
teeth nibbling her skin. Ana was so lucky to be in love with someone as
truly
perfect as Binta, and honoured that her love was so abundantly
reciprocated.

Being
in love made her days in the office so much more bearable. She hated it
when Mr
Madir made his usual coarse comments, a cigarette forever lit and
inserted into
his cigarette holder, and dark bristles outlined against his pale
greasy skin.
“That new girl,” he might say. “She’s got tits like melons even if her
face is
like a monkey. But when you’re stoking the fire, as they say...” Or he
might
say: “You’re no boiler, Ana sweetheart, not like these bloody Deltas
we’ve just
taken on. Pity the client who can’t afford better. Let’s hope they’re
blind,
eh?” Or he might say when a prostitute had left his office after one of
his
mysterious interviews: “Wooahh! If they all had her talents, we’d be
pricing
ourselves right out of the market!”

These
comments were bad enough, but even worse was his irrepressible tendency
to
touch her on the flimsiest of excuses. Her bottom might be pinched if
he found
her bending over to pick something up. His hand would brush
uncomfortably
against her breasts. He might place a hand firmly on her knee and she
would be
forced to go through the humiliation of asking him to remove it,
against his
assertions that there was something decidedly wrong with her or his
accusations
that she was just an intolerable prude. Sometimes he even greeted her
as ‘the
tight-legged Ana’ or ‘the convent girl secretary’ or, most foully of
all, ‘cock
teaser’. However, Ana learnt to ignore these remarks and put out of her
mind
his rather too frequent suggestions that she boost her income by taking
on some
part time prostitution.

“Perhaps
I should give you a pay cut,” suggested the Director unkindly. “Then
maybe
you’d be less happy and more willing to take an active part in the work
of this
Brothel.”

“I
wouldn’t do it if it were the only way to earn a living!”

“But
it’s not a bad living. Khedra’s told you all about its benefits, hasn’t
she? I
simply can’t understand your reluctance. I’m sure you’d make the
perfect
working girl.”

Ana
shook her head vehemently. “Not now. Not ever. I’m paid to work as a
secretary
and that’s all I want to do!”

“You’re
a tough nut to crack!” smiled Mr Madir with grim good humour. “And I
thought
Inta was bad enough. Are you sure I can’t persuade you to regard the
opportunities provided by the Brothel in a more constructive light?”

Ana
was sure that he couldn’t, but fortunately the Director was not in the
reception area of the office for most of the day and she could get on
with her
duties without worrying about him too much. However, whenever he
appeared, a
spark of electricity would shoot up her spine and she could feel the
colour
vanish from her cheeks. Most of her time was occupied in the minutiae
of
organising correspondence and filling up the Director’s diary with all
the
duties he was expected to perform. Some of the Director’s tasks took
him out of
the Brothel for days on end and involved meeting illustrious members of
the
government or civil service. Often his work kept him in other parts of
the
building for what purposes Ana didn’t know, didn’t care and was simply
relieved
that he was absent. Sometimes the Director left the office in the
afternoon
with a bag of golf-clubs and hideous smelling cigars which he
thankfully rarely
smoked when Ana was around. On these and other occasions, Ana felt
particularly
happy and worked so much better, her stray thoughts focused entirely on
her
lover.

Often
Ana and Binta would meet together in the canteen, particularly when
Binta’s
working day finished late. Ana would leave the office, and make her way
along
the tortuous series of corridors that the Director had escorted her on
her
first day and were now so very familiar that she often paced her walk
by
counting off the rooms she passed. She had become so used to the array
of green
and red lights above the rooms and the sight of women tottering by on
their
punishing stilettos, that it surprised her when it crossed her mind as
to what
it all purported. She would be greeted cheerily by the canteen staff,
who had a
particular affection towards her, probably because she was one of the
very few
people who frequented there (especially after working hours) who was
not a
prostitute. They would often pass kindly words regarding the weather or
whatever they had seen on television.

Ana
would take her cup of coffee and sometimes a cake to nibble, and almost
always
sat in the same position against the wall where she could most easily
spot
Binta when she arrived. While waiting, she would sip her coffee slowly
and
watch the other girls in their red and black leather, lace and acrylic
gather
in larger groups, cackling in coarse bawdy humour and inevitably light
up an
array of cigarettes as soon as they sat down. They might notice Ana and
stare
at her, as well they might as no one else wore such obviously modest
clothes as
she. Some recognised her as the Director’s secretary and were
particularly
friendly to her. Ana had come to realise that although at first the
prostitutes
might seem threatening or not altogether wholesome, once she had any
dealing
with them - perhaps in arranging travel expenses, holiday pay or
sterilisation
fees - they never seemed like mere prostitutes again. She felt excluded
from
the girls’ lives, and evidently this was a gulf that was mostly
respected and
honoured.

It
might be as much as two hours that Ana would wait for Binta: a wait
that became
increasingly agitated as she wondered what might be detaining her. She
might
read a newspaper to pass the time, although she often found the
adulatory
articles about President Marmeluke and the wisdom of his policies
somewhat
tedious. There was always a story about an alcohol bust, the
shamefulness of
the dealers and the wretched lives of alcohol takers. Most articles
seemed
perversely remote from the world that Ana knew, especially of the
Brothel which
was never once alluded to, although it always pleased her to read about
her
home district of Rif. Even there, the articles about new dams,
educational
schemes and agricultural initiatives appeared to have little or nothing
to do
with the Rif with which she was
familiar.

After
a torturously long time, Ana was delighted to see the naked form of
Binta
appear, followed by the still disapproving stares of more fully dressed
girls,
who would greet her from the distance with a smile. She wandered over
to Ana,
who noted how much her face was disguising a degree of frustration and
agitation.

“I’m
sorry I’m late but Kesira, my shift supervisor, kept me,” Binta
remarked,
standing by Ana’s table. “There’d been another complaint from a client
about my
performance. He’d said I was too quick and wouldn’t do what he’d asked
me to
do. That might be true, but I’m not obliged to do everything they ask
me to do.
That’d be horrid! Kesira said that if I wasn’t careful, I’d be
downgraded to a
Beta Minus or even a Gamma Plus, but why should I care? It’s not as if
I actually
get paid according to my grade, or any other grade for that matter. And
I long
gave up believing I’d actually gain any remission for pretending to be
more
enthusiastic.”

“Do
you think you might be downgraded?” wondered Ana, who couldn’t
understand why
her lover wasn’t graded an Alpha or an Alpha Plus if beauty was the
sole
criterion.

“I
don’t know. I don’t care. It’s all theoretical. I don’t think they
would
though. They earn more from me if they keep my grade up. Anyway, I’ll
get a cup
of coffee. Do you want one, Ana sweetest?”

Ana
nodded and watched as her lover wandered over to the counter, ordered
herself a
couple of cups and chatted idly with the girl behind the counter. As a
prisoner
she didn’t pay for anything she ordered in the canteen, and when she
ordered
anything she ensured that Ana didn’t pay either. She strolled back
holding the
two cups, placed them on the table and sat down opposite Ana, briefly
stroking
her legs under the table as a substitute to the kiss on the mouth that
would be
so unwise to publicly indulge in. Binta didn’t want to add any
substance to the
suspicions she felt her friendship with Ana might have already
engendered.

“I
hate working here!” Binta declared again. “But there’s not too many
more months
of my sentence left, and then I’ll be free to lead my own life and not
have to
suffer all these disgusting men. And would you believe that at the same
time as
saying I’m no good at the job, they’ve already started sending me
career advice
to persuade me to stay working here when my sentence finishes?”

“You
wouldn’t do that, would you?” gasped Ana, who more than anything else
wanted to
end the nightmare of suppressing her worries of what her lover was
enduring
from her clients every day.

Binta
squeezed Ana’s knee affectionately under the table. “Of course not.
Every
single client is a hell I never want to repeat. I’m sure they do it
automatically. In fact, didn’t you say that they’ve even approached
you?”

“Yes,
but I couldn’t! I wouldn’t!”

“Of
course, you wouldn’t!” Binta agreed reassuringly. “And I wouldn’t
either. They
always want more prostitutes to replace those who leave, like I will
soon. And
when I leave, we’ll live together and forget this horrid place
altogether.”

Ana
nodded. “Then I’ll be able to leave too. I wouldn’t have to work for
that
odious Mr Madir just to be able to see you. It’ll be wonderful, won’t
it? The
two of us together. We could lead an ordinary life and be a normal
couple...”

“Well,
almost a normal couple,” remarked Binta with a sardonic smile. “We
could walk
the streets of the city. We could sit in cafés and see the world. And
I’ll be
able to wear clothes again. I haven’t worn a stitch for so long.”

Binta
glanced down at her naked body which had the even tan she cultivated in
the
Brothel sun beds. Ana wasn’t at all sure she wanted even the smallest
part of
her lover’s gorgeous body hidden from sight, but she recognised that it
would
be totally impractical to be a full-time naturist working and living
anywhere
else in Alif.

“And
I’ll be able to show you Rif,” Ana remarked. “It’d be
so nice to
introduce you to my family and friends.”

“And
perhaps I could show you Jebel,” Binta countered, “even though I’m not
too sure
I ever want to go there again. It’s beautiful. It’s the most beautiful
place
you can imagine. But after the way I was treated there, and the way
people
would treat me if I returned, I don’t think I could face it. Although
it would
please me so much if you were to see my home. I think about it so
often.” Binta
dropped her head sadly, and grasped Ana’s hand for reassurance. “I may
never
see it again though.”

“I’m
sure you will,” said Ana, without conviction.

“Perhaps
Zabba is right. Perhaps we will have to make our life in Blad. What do
you
think of Blad? I see so little of it from inside here in the Brothel.
I’d never
visited it before I came here. Do you think we could make a life here?”

“Of
course we could. We’d have to find a new flat together, because I
wouldn’t be
able to stay in my present apartment if I left the Brothel. But it
wouldn’t
matter what it was like or where it was, as long as we were together,
and the
Brothel was far behind us. Our life would be so much better. I could
visit
Jebel and you could visit Rif, and we would
live in Blad during the week. We would go to bed together, and wake up
in the
morning and work in different places. We could cook together, see films
together, sit in cafés together. We could spend every moment of our
lives
together when not at work.”

Binta
smiled broadly. “That would be so good. Life would be so fulfilling. No
more
Pimple. No more Khedra, Kesira or whoever. No more filthy minded,
unhygienic
clients. An ordinary life and someone to share it with. It seems such a
modest,
such a simple ambition. Surely, it isn’t too much to ask for. Even if
we do
have to live in Blad!”

“Oh
dear!” sighed Ana. “You’re not really that keen on living in the city
are you?”

Binta
smiled sadly. “Not that keen. I’d much rather live in the country
again. I am
still a country girl, and I don’t feel any enthusiasm for Blad’s noise,
hustle
and bustle. I’d prefer the country air, the blue sky, and everything
else I
miss from Jebel. But Zabba is right, there’s nowhere else in Alif we
could live
as a couple without being found out again by snooping neighbours, and
then we’d
both be incarcerated in a brothel or prison. And, anyway, how would I
get a job
in the country with my criminal record?”

Ana
nodded her head. “But do we have to live in Alif? Couldn’t we live in
Agdal?
Ketaba thinks it’s a pretty good place and we wouldn’t have to worry
about
breaking the law there. We could really lead ordinary lives.”

Binta’s
face lit up. “I suppose you’re right. It’s obvious really. Just because
Ketaba’s so keen on it doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be any good for us.
Nobody
would hold my criminal record against me in Agdal, and we could be just
like an
ordinary couple. But I can’t believe it can be that easy. I can’t see
the Alif
government letting us leave. And why would the Agdal government welcome
us?
They’ve already got plenty of people much better qualified than either
of us
who can bring a lot more wealth with them. And if we had to bribe our
way in,
how could we afford to do it? I haven’t got any money. Have you?”

“Well
some. But not very much.”

“Ketaba
can afford to go to Agdal. She earns a lot of money. But even she says
it’s
expensive. I don’t think we could. We won’t be able to get the papers
together,
we can’t afford it and I don’t know that they’d even want us anyway.”

Ana
sighed disconsolately. She picked up her cup and sipped at the coffee.
“It
would be nice, though, if we could. Ketaba’s photographs were very
nice. Agdal
seemed such a lovely place. It’d be good just to have a holiday there.
And
there’s an awful lot of countryside. There are mountains and hills,
just like
in Jebel.”

“A lot
more mountains than Jebel, I’d have thought. Jebel’s not really that
mountainous. And Agdal’s by the sea as well. I’d love to see the sea.
All that
water! And sand as well! We could sit under palm trees on the beach and
watch
the sun come down. Oh! It would be so nice to live somewhere like that.
And we
could be open about our love for each other. We wouldn’t have to be
secretive.
We could kiss in public. We wouldn’t have to pretend to be just
friends. And
people wouldn’t think we were perverts if they knew. They’d just accept
it!
Think how different my love affair with Mezyana would have been if we’d
lived
in Agdal rather than Alif.”

Binta
stroked Ana’s knee, but seeing her longing gaze Ana did not feel at all
reassured. She still felt unsure about her rôle in Binta’s life after
her
meeting with Mezyana, and often felt the heavy weight of guilt whenever
she
reflected on the love that the novice still expressed towards her
lover. It had
been so difficult reporting her meeting, and not only because of the
pain the
encounter caused her. She felt anguish as she observed Binta’s great
interest
and concern towards her former lover. Could she be so certain that she
wasn’t
merely a temporary aside in Binta’s great lifelong romance which would
be
revived once both of them had finished their sentences?

“If we
had lived in Agdal,” Binta mused, “we would never have been parted. We
could
have been like a married couple. We would never have had to hide our
love from
other people.” She looked into Ana’s eyes and must have noticed her
discomfort.
“Oh, Ana! Oh, sweetheart! Oh, dearest! Don’t think that just because I
love
Mezyana ... loved Mezyana ... that my love for you is any less strong.
She is
in my past, and had we not been separated by the law who knows what
might have
been? Who knows? But that is only speculation. What matters is our love
together. Don’t be jealous of Mezyana. We’re together. And that’s what
matters!
Isn’t it?”

Ana
nodded. “That’s what matters!” She stared at her cup sadly and then
looked up
imploringly. “Oh, Binta! Please stay with me. Please say you’ll always
love me.
I couldn’t bear to be without you. Your love for me is the most
precious thing
in my life. Everything else is unimportant. Please always love me. You
are my
whole life.” She was conscious of tears welling inside her eyes, and of
sniffles coagulating in her nostrils. “Please always be with me. I love
you so
much!”

“And I
love you!” insisted Binta, looking rather sad and a little guilty. She
squeezed
Ana’s hand under the table so tightly that their palms sweated
together. “Don’t
ever think otherwise. I love you. And I want you more than you
could
possibly know. Just don’t ever believe anything else.”